I savor night shifts in the laundry room because no one is around, just me and the sloshing sound of soapy water. It’s midnight when I see the woman emerge from the steamy haze. With her grease-stained uniform, she’s not one of the wealthy colonists from the upper levels of the spaceship with credits to burn on contraband.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
She startles, and her eyes catch on the glisten of my bare chest as she clutches a bundle of sheets to her own.
“I’m looking for Ray,” she says.
“And you are?”
“Aevvy.”
“Well, Aevvy, you know you can just throw your laundry down the chutes like everyone else,” I say.
“That’s not why I’m here. I heard you sell special items unavailable on the concession level.”
The best thing about running the ship’s laundry was the many nooks and crannies to hide contraband. I had powder, of course, and weapons, the bread and butter of any smuggling outfit.
But a month ago things changed when the hyperdrive malfunctioned, and we crashed out of hyperspace. If the drive couldn’t be fixed, the trip to Saguari would take five years instead of a week. The other ships that escaped Earth would’ve already arrived and their passengers taken the choicest land.
Many chose to drown their disappointment in powder. But I prided myself in also providing the distractions of rarer contraband: exotic foods. I stored delicacies in a freezer I’d made between coolant tubes.
But Aevvy looks like trouble, not like the type with disposable credits.
“Sorry,” I say. “Just the laundryman.”
“Liar. You’re the smuggler.” Her hair has begun to frizz in the humidity. I’m mesmerized by the dark wispy curls stuck to her neck.
“I prefer Master of Expensive Pleasures,” I say.
“I can pay,” she says.
“Well then, what do you desire?”
“Meat.”
“I got jerky.”
“No, it must be red and raw.”
“That’s gonna cost you a fortune,” I say, mentally adding the significant sum to my savings. I’d already started making plans for the house I’d build on Saguari. The plans get more extravagant with each new credit that crossed my palm. Turns out everything is rare and limited on a slow-moving spaceship.
“I can pay,” she repeats.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve bucketloads of credits,” I say, eyeing her stained mechanic’s uniform.
“I have something more valuable.”
“Oh?”
Aevvy lays the bundle on the table and reveals a sleeping puppy.
“Well, shit…”
Animals are the rarest of contraband. When we left Earth in a hurry, no animals were allowed on the spaceships, for sanitation reasons, and to conserve resources for people.
“How’d you get that on board?”
“She’s called Iso,” Aevvy says. “She’s young and sick and needs real food, not the printed, freeze-dried shit.”
I reach for Iso. Aevvy grabs my wrist.
“Feed her meat for one week, and you can have her.”
I twist my wrist, slipping into a handshake.
“She’s worth a fortune. You’d give her up?”
“To save her life.”
It’s risky to harbor live, possibly barking contraband. But as I look into Aevvy’s pleading eyes and feel her pulse under my fingertips, I agree.
She watches me pull meat from my dwindling stash and feed the limp puppy. Iso licks my fingers and curls on a blanket under a drying vent.
“I’ll be back to check on her,” Aevvy says.
When Aevvy comes the next night, Iso’s tail thumps on the blanket. We sit and watch her eat, talking about our favorite foods from back home, especially the ones that had become scarce in the sweltering climate of recent decades. On the third night, I give Aevvy chocolate and watch her marvel as it melts in her mouth. It’s been years since cocoa could grow on Earth. On the fourth night, I open a bottle of wine, perhaps one of the last Earth wines in the universe. We lie on the floor, looking up at sudsy water sloshing through clear pipes above. Iso curls between us as I tell Aevvy about the house I’ll build on Saguari. On the fifth night, Iso runs to Aevvy, and her grin creates a warmth under my ribs. On the sixth night, we sniff packets of spices I’ve tucked away to flavor bland space food. I tell her to close her eyes and place a clove on her tongue.
At the end of the seventh night, Aevvy is solemn. Our deal is done. She kisses Iso and leaves, avoiding my gaze. I look for an excuse to tell her to return but come up blank.
Every night after, I feel Aevvy’s absence tighten my chest. When the hell did I get so soft? I lie under the pipes, watching the suds swish by. Iso whimpers, watching the door.
I have a dog that will be worth millions of credits on Saguari. I have rare seeds and exotic spices. But all I want is to watch Aevvy’s lips curve into a smile when I tell a dumb joke. I want to run a finger along her jaw and down her neck, down, down… Shit.
The bottom level of the ship where the mechanics live smells like exhaust and nuclear fusion, like grease and metal shavings. When the door to Aevvy’s quarters hisses open, her eyes widen.
“Ray?”
I grin and lift Iso from my bag. She jumps into Aevvy’s arms and licks her cheek.
“You should keep her,” I say.
“What? I’ll pay everything I have.” She digs in a drawer and piles credits on a table.
“No,” I say, pushing the credits back. “There’s no need.” Who am I?
“Really?”
“Really.”
She hugs me. Stunned, I put my arms around her. Her curls brush my cheek. I feel the press of her chest against mine and the way our breaths sync. Finally, I step back, looking at my feet.
“You know, there’s room for you and Iso in the plans for the house I’ll build… If you want…”
She grins and leans in to kiss me as Iso circles us.
Amethyst Loscocco's work has appeared or is upcoming in The Pinch, Electric Literature, Catamaran, Hexagon, and elsewhere. She has an MA in Science Writing from Johns Hopkins University. She lives in Oakland, California. Find her online at amethystloscocco.com and @amethystwrites.